Indecisive
by stardust-bones
Summary: She knows that she is greedy for thinking that she can hold the world in the palm of her hand, but then again, who's going to stop her from dreaming? Implied SpikeJulia and ViciousJulia. One-shot.


**AN: The first sentence popped into my head and the rest just sort of exploded from there, which is why it has no logic or structure to it. Enjoy, anyway. I like writing Julia as uncertain.**

Sometimes there's truth and sometimes there's not, like the way one eye glints with life and the other lays dull and dead in its socket as he stares at her. The difference in shades is barely detectable to the average onlooker, but Julia's known the one eye was false since the day he had collapsed on her doorstep. It was one of those morose, lonely evenings where the rain clouds seemed to be on the verge of tears. She remembers the way the streetlamp outside the window kept flickering on and off, and when it had finally made up its mind and sputtered into darkness, he had shown up beaten and bruised.

The scarlet blood had clung to his face and shone brightly, even in the thick darkness.

She had tried to save him, but she was a fighter and not a doctor. She used guns instead of gauze. She could cure the most basic of wounds, but that particular bludgeon was a wound to be trifled with. As much as it hurt her, half of his vision would never be the same again.

She sighs and slumps against the windowpane. Fingers of ice dig into her forehead. The incessant rain beats against the glass in haphazard patterns. She tries to sum up Tharsis in one word and she ends up with rainy.

Then soaked comes to mind.

Or dark.

Maybe even lifeless.

All of them seem like a logical conclusion, so she shoves them into the back of her brain and decides that the world is better off when it has more than one thing to fall back onto. Not like a plan A or a plan B, but more like a plan Everything, where the world can turn out right for once and no one has to discard one thing that they like just to hold onto another object of equal sentiment. It shouldn't have to be this way.

She knows that she is greedy for thinking that she can hold the world in the palm of her hand, but then again, who's going to stop her from dreaming? If children can spend their years trapped in the press of silly little daydreams, she can have one hope to fall back on, at the very least. Because goodness knows that the only reason she is still sane is because she spends her days in visions of sanity.

Well, maybe not sanity. Just peace. Comfort. Subtle smiles, loving arms. Soft linens as they curl around bare skin. And two pairs of hands, she muses to herself, a cold set to hold her close and a warmer set for her to hold even closer.

She presses herself as deep as she can into the wall, her fists clenching. Why did she have to choose between anything, anyway? Choice is just a bunch of nonsense. If she doesn't lose her options to the government, then she'll lose them to the Syndicate. One answer is all she needs, they tell her. One single answer to keep her company on cold winter nights. But isn't it possible that she could have everything?

Two answers instead of one. Silver hair one night and jade the next. She could live with that, alternating between Vicious and Spike. There was compromise in that. There was truth in that, raw, bleeding, open truth. She could accept that kind of logic. Not two roads splitting at a fork, but all the roads of the world merging together into one lane of certainty.

The very sound of that brings a smile flickering across her face.

The sheets rustle. Spike sits up and gives one of those cocky grins that make her heart stop beating. He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, and slumps over cowboy-style. "Whatcha thinking 'bout, Jules?" he asks in that voice of honey, rose petals, and open sky.

She shakes her head and the daydreams dissipate. "It's nothing."

"Why don't you come back into bed? I'm gonna get cold if I have to wait any longer."

She sinks down beside him in the bed and buries her face into the tangle of his hair.

She closes her eyes and the waves of sleep take her.

Let the world make its own decisions. She could happily remain indecisive.


End file.
